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Danger: Void Behind Door

Writing by Matt Haynes

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Whiteboard

Danger: Void Behind Door

The whiteboard at Southgate station says services are normal on all lines except the Central; on the Central, it says, they are good.

Proto-Punk

Danger: Void Behind Door

“He’s asked me to sing in a proto-punk band,” said the man in the suit on the phone in the sun on Piccadilly. “I don’t even know what that means.”

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Sifted by Ilk

  • Fiction
  • Non-Fiction
  • London
  • South East London
  • London in 30 Words
  • Smoke A London Peculiar
  • Transport
  • Politics
  • Poems and Parodies

As staff sweep up, a blue-haired Japanese girl sits in McDonald’s window, ear to mobile, lips unmoving, two dark wet smudges fixed through glass on somewhere that’s not Pentonville Road.

Serendipity Doo-Dahs

A Higher Evil

Are independent bookshops their own worst enemy, or just my own worst enemy?

The Hungry Cabbie

How Victorian philanthropists strove to fit thirteen grown men into a small green shed without recourse to contortionism, immodesty or facial depilation. And how an ill-advised sausage led to the discovery of south London.

TK Maxx in Karl-Marx-Stadt

Leipzig 1989 remembered, and why the Dean of St Paul’s can’t hold a candle to the pastor of the Nikolaikirche.

The Peckham Panama

How a vision of cauliflowers being ferried from Epsom to Rotherhithe led to the construction of the (Not Particularly) Grand Surrey Canal and eventually Burgess Park.

The Beer Goes In The Pub

Castration deemed not suitable treatment for 4x4 drivers as smallness of genitalia makes operation too fiddly.

Support Your Local Independent Bookshop

Why Franz Kafka gave up self-publishing.

A Miscellany of Despair

How the National Maritime Museum is providing new opportunities for French people to shrug and go "bof".

Feminist Pelicans

Some thoughts on the sexual politics of pedestrian-controlled traffic lights and why Brussels fills me with horror.

For The Greater Good

A response to UKIP in not the only language its supporters don't understand: poetry.

Is This What People Do?

The lorries are starting to move now, rumbling across the deck of the James Newman and onto the ramps that shake and ring beneath their tyres. He is supposed to leave too; there is an announcement over the tannoy, every time a ferry docks, forbidding passengers to remain on board.

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